


The Defining Moment

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, F/M, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: For Jemma, it’s an event that typifies or determines all subsequent related occurrences.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amandajoyce118](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/gifts).



> THIS IS A NEW STORY! (sorry, had to use the all caps, since for the first time this is not simply a move from FFN). This story started out (long ago) as a soulmate fic based off of a prompt, but then I saw a clip from an episode of a show called "Hello/Goodbye" where a woman talked about how she'd realized she was in love with her best friend while working in Afghanistan. From there the fic morphed into what you'll read below. I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Here's the youtube video if you're interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmlLyf4Hfwc

 

Jemma Simmons is barely 16 when she first meets Leo Fitz. She finds him incorrigible; he’s stubborn to a fault. Unlike most of their classmates at the Academy, he’s also a genius and he challenges her in ways that no one else has before.  She can’t help but respect him when he tells her, his ears blazing red and his voice shaky with anger, that it’s impossible to calibrate the systems of the astrum using only a biometric scan.  She, very quickly, earns his in return when she insists that she can and proves it less than an hour later.  They are each, at various points in the year, considered the top student at the Academy.

Yet, they fight constantly.  So much so that the dean calls them into his office and warns them that their continued conflict puts their placement with S.H.I.E.L.D following their graduation at risk.  Jemma opens her mouth to protest, but Fitz surprises her by saying exactly what she’d intended.

“I reckon we’ve got the top marks out of anyone here,” he notes pointedly, crossing his arms at his chest and squaring his jaw. “And it’s because of that conflict, that you have the molecular investigative unit, the mousehole, the D.W.A.R.F.S and countless other invaluable tools.”  He numbers each off on his fingers. “You should be praising our conflict, not cautioning us.”

Jemma narrows her eyes, steadies her quirking shoulders and uses the nail of her thumb to stab at her skin to stop herself from laughing. She feels as though she could burst with pride.

“Too right,” the dean says after a moment, nodding his head contemplatively. “Just quarrel more quietly next time.”  He taps his papers together and waves his dismissal.

The two are wide eyed and a bit surprised that he’s bent so readily, but neither of them question his choice as they shuffle out of his office.  Perhaps they really are as invaluable as they believed themselves to be!  

Jemma can’t help but feel emboldened when she reaches for Fitz’s hand, squeezing it excitedly.  He gives her an odd, surprised look and she thinks for the first time that maybe she can honestly call him her friend.  Her  _ best friend. _ She grins and nudges him with her shoulder, refusing to release her grasp on his hand.

“We’re quite the pair,” she says once they’re down the hall and he smiles a genuine smile in return that causes his blue eyes to brighten. “But I still plan on finishing top of our class,” she adds cheekily.

His lips cock mischievously. “If that happens, it’s only ‘cause you love homework more than life itself.”

Jemma laughs and squeezes his hand once more. She supposes that maybe they’ve been best friends for longer than she’d even realized.

Strangely, it’s not until Jemma’s 21st birthday that someone ventures to ask if she and Fitz are dating. She frowns at the question and shakes her head; they’re just friends.  

_ No.  _ She’s insistent.  They may be the best of friends, but she and Fitz argue far too much. Furthermore he doesn’t find her remotely attractive, as evidenced by the look he’d given her when he first saw her in the red dress she’d selected for her birthday party  She shakes her head more surely; romantic couples should be symbiotic.  Fitz is far too…  _ challenging. _

They are best friends though, and it is enough.

Perhaps coincidentally, both she and Fitz are assigned to SciOps and are partnered as junior agents.  It seems practical, she reasons, that they should share a residence; the housing costs in the D.C. area are astronomical and they still have a few years until they reach tenure.  Fitz readily agrees and they decide on a tiny two bedroom in Arlington.

It helps that they spend much of their time in the lab. The space is small-- almost too small-- but they make do.  Fitz is surprisingly neat, keeping his do-dads and bobbles to his desk at work. Jemma, in return, applies her understanding of chemistry to cooking and makes them meals from scratch.  Fitz seems appreciative of her endeavors as there’s never anything left once they’ve eaten.

At SciOps, they manage to impress the head of the Science & Technology department, and their combined development of numerous non-lethal devices lands them a promotion to an elite off-site team. They imbibe in a few too many bottles of Bendeery in celebration, but it’s of no consequence until they stumble home, laughing, arm-in-arm. It’s there, next to the kitchen table where they’d shared so many meals together, that Fitz kisses her square on the lips.

Jemma thinks she should probably push him away from her; they are only just best friends.  But something comes over her during a moment when his lips leave hers. In those seconds she notices that her breath is heavy and her heart is pounding with betrayal against her chest, pushing her to take a chance for once.  It’s a chance she thinks she might regret in the morning, but she’s feeling impulsive; emboldened, really. Besides, it’s not like they’re  _ together _ , so what does she really have to lose?

She catches his gaze briefly before tilting her head forward and capturing his lips. One hand holds him tight against her and the other sinks into the hair at the base of his neck.  He deepens their kiss and she tries not to dwell on how good it all feels.

She tries to lie and tell herself that it was nothing and that it meant nothing; Fitz hadn’t awoken something in her.  At first it’s easy enough pretending that none of it matters until one drunken mishap turns into a second, not-so drunken mishap.  Then when there’s a third and fourth, the mishaps become less accidental and more purposeful and eventually she loses count.  It feels almost inspired when they begin foregoing separate beds.  

A question lingers at the back of her mind that she dares not ask.  She suspects she might be heartbroken at his reply.  There are a million unfinished conversations between them and she wonders if he’s concerned about it all too.  If one of them finds someone else, it would change everything.

Their new jobs take them to Sokovia, a small Eastern European nation that has become a hotbed for Hydra sleeper cells. The terrorist threat is thought to be momentarily secured and the World Security Council authorizes international movement in the area.  Jemma is sent to advise on the safe removal of several recently discovered Terrigen crystals and Fitz is simultaneously tasked with improving the council’s use of A.I. peacekeepers.

There are rules about cohabitation in the international workers’ compound, but when Fitz knocks on her door and slides into bed next to her, she decides it’s a rule worth breaking.  The other women on her floor say nothing, but a man from Fitz’s floor shoots him a look of warning and reminds him that protocol stipulates that couples should be registered. Jemma holds her breath awaiting Fitz’s reply.  His face is crimson and he wrings his hands at his stomach, a nervous tick of his that she’d noticed long ago.

“Yah,” he replies shakily and the man narrows his eyes.  “It’s fine.”

It’s not and they both know it, but what can be done?  They are only friends.

Without a further word on the matter, Fitz avoids her room for the next week. Her heart aches at his decision, but he behaves almost as if nothing has changed between them aside from their living arrangement; he’s just as stubborn and ill-tempered as always.  

They meet for breakfast on their second-to-last day in Sokovia and review their day’s plans. A fixer hired by the tech division is set to drive Fitz to the capital where he’ll be introduced to the A.I program’s financial backers.  With one hand he flips through the paperwork, visibly irritated at the sheer number of credentials he’s being forced to carry due to rumours of a renewed Hydra threat surfacing.  

“You ought to be careful then,” Jemma suggests softly.  Her heart skips nervously at the thought of Fitz near to danger.

“I won’t be gone long,” he replies unconcerned and he pushes the papers aside, refocusing his gaze on his bowl of cereal.

She reaches across the table and cups his wrist, stalling his movement. He looks up at her, confused by her sudden reaction. Her mouth opens then closes just as quickly, words trapped at the back of her throat.  She pulls back her hand, suddenly shy and unable to meet his eyes.

Fitz’s brows furrow with his confusion.  “Are you okay?”

She nods and swallows back the emotion that’s quickly surfacing. “Just be careful, okay?” she manages to croak out.

He narrows his eyes briefly before shaking his head.  “There’s nothing to be careful about. It’s just a meeting. You shouldn’t--”

“Fitz--” Her voice sounds panicked and his eyes widen in response.  “Just--  _ Come back to me _ .”  The words crest on a sigh and she can’t bear to look up and see his reaction. “Okay?”

For probably the first time since they’d met, she wishes wholeheartedly that they were a couple, that they were more than just friends.  If they were then people wouldn’t look at them oddly, wouldn’t question their living arrangements and she wouldn’t feel so guilt ridden about the way she feels.

The silence between them stretches far too long and she can feel her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as she stares at some unseen spot on the table. Fraught, she opens her mouth, intent on correcting course.  She may not be the best liar but perhaps she can offer a believable excuse...

But before she can utter a single word, his watch beeps indicating that his fixer is waiting for him at the main gates of the compound. He kicks back his chair and collects his papers, stuffing them into his backpack.  

“We’ll talk later, okay?” he says, before slinging his bag over his shoulder. Without another word, he turns on his heel and exits the cafeteria.  

She resists the urge to bury her face into her hands and sob.  Instead, she stands and clears their table, intent on occupying her mind so that she doesn’t dwell on her worry and new found humiliation.  

Jemma climbs the stairs to her room in a quick sprint and figures she might as well get a headstart on her mission reports. There are just a handful left to complete and it’s enough to tide her over for much of the day.  

She’s about to pull her computer from her locksafe when she’s very nearly thrown off her feet.  The building seems to sway beneath her with a deafening crack; it’s as if the ground itself opens up just outside her bedroom window. She grabs at her bedframe to keep upright and her heart pounds into her throat as she staggers toward her open window.  The air is thick with smoke and dust rains from the sky, coating everything in its path.  She coughs, fanning her hand impractically in front of her face in a poor attempt to clear the smoke from her room and get a better sense of what has just happened.

As the smoke clears she notices red flames licking the main gates and hears someone shout  _ explosion _ in Sokovian, one of the few words she actually recognizes.  

It takes the alarms almost a full minute to sound, but by then Jemma is already on her knees and reaching under her bed for her storage of body armour.  Gunfire pops in the distance and she hurriedly yanks her luggage out, cursing her own stupidity for having blocked her access to the equipment.  It’s no wonder she’d failed her ops training at the academy.  Once she’s able to free the armour, she pulls the vest over her head and quickly secures the straps before setting the helmet on her head and clipping it into place.  

She stands and reaches for her phone, tapping a quick message to Fitz.  She can barely hear herself think as she presses send.  Men in fatigues storm the halls, ordering lockdown protocol.  The security forces and other residents yell at each other, panic and confusion obvious in their voices.

“Bloody hell, answer!” She shakes her phone as if doing so will bring his reply to her faster.   

A man in army fatigues holding a large assault rifle bursts into her room, startling her. He screams at her in Sokovian and motions with his gun. Her eyes widen, her rudimentary knowledge of Sokovian failing her.  She sharply jerks her head, indicating her confusion.

“Go, go, go!” He yells in English when she doesn’t respond to his initial commands.

Jemma nods and throws open the doors to her wardrobe and reaches for her Go Bag, a mandatory safety requirement for all travelling in the war-torn country. She slides her arms through it, hooking it onto her back.  Another loud blast from the courtyard causes her to rock forward and back, very nearly throwing her off balance.  She reaches for the door frame to steady herself as her room begins to fill with dust and smoke; she can barely see two feet in front of her.

“Get to the bunker!” he commands urgently, his voice gruff and impatient.  “The gates are being attacked.”

Her breath stalls in her chest and she is momentarily frozen by the news he reveals.  Fitz was meant to be leaving through the gates only minutes earlier.  Her heart sinks into her stomach with worry and dread.  Irrationally, she turns in place and looks in the direction of her now smoke-filled window.  

“Fitz…”

The man grabs her by the arm, practically lifting her feet from the floor in order to force her into the hallway.  

“Now! Before Hydra!”

The yelling from the other residents and security is more pronounced, more desperate in the hallway and she’s fairly certain she can hear pops of gunfire getting louder. 

“Bunker!”  The stock of his firearm digs into the small of her back, urging her quickly forward and it’s all she can do to stay upright when he pushes her into the darkened stairwell and purposefully closes the door behind her.  

When she arrives in the bunker, which is two stories lower than the floor she’d been staying on, she finds it dark and musty and, frustratingly, it has zero cellular signal.  The power flickers intermittently, indicative of what must be happening on and around the compound.  She can’t help but eye the specially designed, military grade radio hooked to the wall.  She briefly wonders if it’s possible to hotwire a signal before they’re all warned that it’s meant for emergency use only.

She curls up in the corner of the room, removes her helmet and buries her head into her palms, her every thought occupied with wondering if Fitz is okay.  The radio crackles with reports of a contingent of foreigners trapped outside of the gates and being housed by the friendly embassies.  Jemma asks after their affiliation or nationalities, but no one is certain of which countries or organizations they represent.  The radio also crackles with reports of death at the gates; there are citizens and international workers who have been caught in the melee when Hydra forces had tried to storm the facility.

Hours later, the constant worry nearly cripples her and she spends an embarrassing amount of time staring at the files she’s saved onto her phone, grateful for the extensive battery life that Fitz had outfitted her with months ago. She tries to be conservative with the energy, but she can’t resist looking at the candid photos she’s taken of him; they make her smile and for those brief moments, time passes a little faster.

It’s three days before they’re allowed out of the bunker. A team dispatched from S.H.I.E.L.D radios the all clear and they cheer, relieved to finally be rescued.  Her heart beats nervously as she rises to her feet, unsure of what fate awaits her on the other side of the bunker doors.  Hands pull her through the exit and into the sunlight.  She squints and shields her eyes as she tries to take in her surroundings as best she can.  Her eyes sting and she has to practically force them to stay open as they adjust.

The courtyard, once lavish with colourful gardens, sits in ruin.  Rubble, impossibly large in some areas, makes the terrain difficult to walk on.  The entry gates hang askew and a burned out car sits flipped onto its side just outside the security clearance zone.  Noticeable blood spatter mars the walls of the laneway.  It’s grisly and unnerving and when Jemma takes a deep breath to calm her nerves she chokes on the dusty and gritty unsettled air.

“Ma’am?” Jemma startles slightly and turns toward the voice.  A woman in the blue fatigues of a humanitarian aid group jogs to catch up.  She tugs at Jemma’s elbow rooting her in place before asking for her name and affiliation.

Jemma very nearly rolls her eyes with frustration. After three days of being trapped underground she needs information, needs to understand; the last thing she wants to do is answer questions when she has questions herself that need answering.

“Dr. Jemma Simmons,” she says matter-of-factly, rattling off her accreditation as she looks down at her phone now finally pinging with notifications from her parents and from S.H.I.E.L.D ops.  None yet, are from Fitz. She scrolls as the woman gives instructions about evacuation and resettlement and her battery finally succumbs, shutting down to a blackened screen.

“Any recorded attachments in Sokovia?”

Jemma looks up, startled momentarily by the question. She knows what will happen if she answers in the negative-- they’re likely to refuse any of her inquiries regarding Fitz. She has no legal authority over any information that is relative to him.

“I’m looking for a Leopold Fitz,” Jemma replies instead, her answer purposefully diversionary. “Do you have any record of him?”

The woman doesn’t seem to notice and takes Jemma’s reply as an answer to her question. She immediately flips a page on her clipboard, her eyes running through the names that are listed.  “None that I can see,” she acknowledges.  Jemma can feel her face drop with disappointment.  “There are a number that are in the British embassy that I don’t have names for.  We’ve only just been given access since the insurgence,” she adds, her voice feigning an air of hope.  “They’re expected to arrive momentarily for registration.”

Jemma nods slowly, her eyes narrowing, distrustful and uncertain; there’s more that the woman isn’t saying.

She sighs relenting under Jemma’s questioning gaze. “Just be prepared,” she says gently but firmly.  “The situation has changed.”

_ The situation.  _ It’s a turn of phrase that Jemma had only ever heard the local fixers and interpreters use:  _ the situation  _ had been chaotic during the Sokovian civil wars, the World Security Council says that  _ the situation _ is relatively stable under the current president...  

If the situation has changed that could only mean...

A lump quickly forms at the base of her throat and the blood rushes from her face, leaving her feeling cold and hollow; she understands what the woman is suggesting.

Jemma shakes her head of the dissenting thought, refusing to believe that Fitz won’t be on the bus when it arrives. He has to be on that bus.

“Well,” the woman says, clearing her throat before turning her attention back to her clipboard.  “A few have already gone inside to pack. You’re free to do so as well if you’d like.  They’re still working on the electrical though.  Evacuation is at twenty-two hundred.”

Jemma decides to wait for the bus rather than return inside.  Soldiers, fully armed, eye her with suspicion as she paces the courtyard.  She wrings her hands and tries to recite the periodic table in order to quell the rising anxiety she feels in her chest.  Eventually even that has little effect.

When the grey converted Metro bus arrives it kicks up dirt as it slows, nearing the broken entrance of the compound.  Those who’d been left behind during the attack begin to shift as if in a trance and move toward it.  There’s noticeable tension and uncertainty in the air and Jemma sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes fixed on the bus.  Its gears squeak and rattle before it rolls to a stop and she stretches her neck, eager to see a familiar face through the dust streaked windows.   

The doors creak and swing outward and the excited and relieved faces of people she barely recognizes from her time in the compound eagerly pour down the stairs.  There are cheers from those who surround her as they lurch forward, reaching out for their friends, coworkers and in some cases, partners.  When the last of the passengers disembark, It’s Jemma who’s left standing alone.  

“Fitz!  Leopold Fitz,” she cries out, reaching and grabbing hold of the person closest to her, startling them.  Her voice sounds untempered, wild and desperate; she certainly feels as much. “Was he with you?”

The man shakes his head and her heart sinks with disappointment.  He has to be somewhere; perhaps at another embassy?  It takes every fibre of her being to stay upright and not let herself crumble to the ground in tears.  

“Jemma!”

She feels the hand on her shoulder before she registers that it’s a familiar voice calling her name.  Her heart hitches in her chest; she doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to be wrong.

This time the voice is almost whispered; uncertain. “Jemma?”

It’s him, she’s certain. Her face crumples with recognition and the tears that had stung at her eyes and blurred her vision begin to cascade against her cheeks as she turns.  “Fitz?” Her voice shudders as she says his name; the exhaustion and worry finally surfacing as she turns and sees the person she’d been so worried she’d never see again.

He shrugs his reply and she can’t help but chuckle through her tears.  The warm familiarity of that simple action surges through her, comforting her like a warm blanket. It’s so quintessentially him.  She throws her arms around his neck in a suffocating hug.

“I’m sorry.”  She’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, she’s not sure she even cares at this point.

“Where were you?” She mutters into his neck, her tears wetting the collar of his shirt. “I was so worried.  I thought--” She gulps, unable to finish the sentence.

“At Sammy’s house,” he explains simply, his hand rubbing her back consolingly.  “I tried calling you but the lines were down for a bit there. Then S.H.I.E.L.D reinforcements came and they wanted intel support.”

She pulls back and eyes him confused. “Who’s Sammy?”

He smiles sheepishly. “My fixer. We just missed the blast.  By seconds, I reckon.”

Jemma lets her hand drag from his shoulder to Fitz’s hand and links her fingers into his.  She opens her mouth to say something, but she’s not even sure where to begin.  

Fitz seems to sense this as he recalls for her his earlier promise.  “It’s later you know.”

She nods, her stomach in knots.

“It’s okay if you…” He shakes his head, his gaze darting toward the ground.  “It’s just… when I couldn’t reach you…” He motions absently with his free hand. “But it’s fine if-- if you don’t… things were fine before. It’s just that you think you have all the time in the world--”

“-- And then there’s a moment when you realize you might not have that time.”  

His eyes lift to meet hers and he studies her for a moment.

“It’s been 10 years Fitz… I don’t want want to keep pretending that things aren’t more than they really are.”

“Yeah?” His brows spike.

She can see that he’s still uncertain, but there’s hope visible in his features.  She wants to reassure him properly.

It’s probably not the most ideal place for them to kiss.  There’s still sirens sounding in the distance and heavy machinery is moving the rubble, kicking up dust into the air, practically suffocating them. And, she’s still not entirely certain she can see straight in the waning afternoon sun, but all of it is suddenly forgotten when her hand tentatively reaches out to him, drawing him closer.

Jemma pulls on his neck so that their lips meet halfway.  She tries to put what remains unspoken into her actions; it’s not something she wants to run away from anymore.  His nose bumps against hers and she smiles surely before letting herself sink deeper against him.  His arms wrap at her waist and up to her back, pulling her tight against him.  It’s both familiar and new.

After a few moments, she begrudgingly drags her lips from his and bows her head, letting her forehead press against his. “You know,” she says softly and breathlessly, letting her fingers play absently with a button on his shirt. “I reckon we’ve the longest string of unfinished conversations…”

He nods, slightly lifting his head from where it touches hers and he meets her gaze. A soft, crookedly nervous smile pulls at the corner of his lips as his shoulder bobs upward. “Maybe it’s time we finished one?”  

She knows of only one proper way to answer his question.  Her hands reach to cup his jaw and when she covers his warm face with kisses, she knows it’s not the end of a conversation, but the start of a new one.


End file.
